


Bonding

by ArianShep



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Explicit Consent, F/M, First Kiss, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, Neck Kissing, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianShep/pseuds/ArianShep
Summary: post Broken Circle. yeah, a lot of my fanfic explores power. so do these two. of course i mostly blame Thedas for enslaving their entire race, and the Mage Tower for frowning on interpersonal relations, but no Zevrans were harmed in the writing of this fic.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Surana, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Kudos: 3





	Bonding

I tell myself that this new life is functional. That what I've seen – the only home I've ever known, destroyed - didn't hurt me as deeply as it actually did. I tell myself that my companions understand, that they care, even though it is likely only one of them does. And I practice patience with the ones who don't understand.

One, in particular.

He's sweet, in the way young human males can be sweet before they learn that the entire world was made for them. He's kind, courteous, even amusing... in the gauche way of a handsome young man who has learned that a smile can gain him a fluttering acceptance of even the barest apology.

And yet. I can't make up my mind to allow him to touch me.

It hasn't become an issue. Not yet. I can see it in his eyes; a sort of glint, perhaps, a softening of the mouth. Above the Templar armor, his interest gleams in a skin-worrying way, reminiscent of Cullen. There is an awareness.

His skills are growing. I feel it. He's been practicing. It's not the armor. After the debacle at the Tower, he changed. Now something in me chills every time he leans toward me, as if part of my soul has recognized how easily it could be extracted, if he wished to make the effort. I accepted his rose and his compliments. I find... I do care for him.

But despite all this – my softness for him, the young man's concern, his humor, his obvious callowness and even innocence - I can't bring myself to let him touch me.

\--

When the nightmares woke me (again) last night, as they haven't since our first night at camp, it was the assassin I sought out.

At first it was merely that he was awake. Or woke easily at the noise I was likely making. He seemed eager to sit with me in the dead of night, teasing me about demons until I was too amused to fear anything. Not the demons. Not him. Not myself.

But when he pressed me for more, I found myself pulling back. I've been sheltered all my life – at least with respect to men - and his experience is intimidating. I made it clear that I didn't intend to give myself to him. Not yet. When he agreed to hold and comfort me through the nightmares, I was powerless to refuse. His acceptance felt like a reprieve. I could be near him, and yet retain my magic.

When I curled up in his warm blankets, peace stole over me. I felt surprisingly safe in the arms of a man who had been ready to accept hard coin to end my life only weeks ago. He had given me his oath of service then, but in his tent that night I finally allowed myself to believe it. He gathered me in protectively, required nothing of me. I remained capable of defending myself... with no need to do so.

I slept.

–-

When I woke in the dimness of early morning, it was to a soft brush of skin grazing my neck, lips pressing on my ear. I understood how the electric shocks I hand out with such casualness must feel to their recipients. I couldn't move, I desperately didn't want to move, yet I knew I had to move. It would have been beyond insanity to remain there, to allow the kissing to continue, yet expect this experienced man to stop of his own accord. When I couldn't keep myself from making a noise, something akin to a tiny moan, he chuckled in response.

“Good morning.” His lips barely brushed my ear again, and the thought struck me that my only previous experiences with kissing involved humans: young human males who were obviously in a rush to find out what else I was willing to do with, or to, them. The fact that the tips of my ears were so sensitive that waking up to someone kissing one of them would completely paralyze me was not something I had anticipated.

But he had, certainly. I made myself remember who I was dealing with, that even if I didn't know what to expect, he did.

“Good morning.” If my voice was shaky, well, I couldn't help it. He was taking advantage of my (freely admitted) ignorance, and no doubt amused by my reaction. I pulled away slightly, and turned to face him. His arms, which had been loosely draped around me, hands carefully avoiding any objectionable places, slid nonchalantly to my back. I felt more confident being able to see him, yet found the look on his face intimidating; he was smiling lazily. His humor reflected the relaxed assurance of a hunter who knows he will down his quarry eventually. His body shifted slightly, not enough to crowd or alarm, but the weight of one of his legs settled partly on top of mine, mirroring his arm. The posture didn't require spoken words for the message to be clear: “I could keep you where you are if I chose to, but I will let you go if you wish.”

He was offering me space to choose: stay or go. He was affirming that - while he felt no qualms about seduction - he wouldn't force me. It was, oddly, arousing and reassuring and frustrating, all at once. The piece of me that wanted things to remain safe clashed with the sudden wild piece of me that wished it wasn't my responsibility to keep myself safe, that someone else had the making of that choice. I nearly shook my head in outright denial; this was the way the young Templar behaved at times, as if he never wanted the responsibility of choosing. It was behavior that bothered me a great deal.

And now here I was.

Zevran was content to look at me, fingers idly playing over my shoulders and low back. As the silence stretched on, I noticed the fingers pressing harder, working on knots. I closed my eyes and thought about how his movements were unfair; just as exploitative as kisses on my ears. I found myself unable to ask him to stop giving me such pleasure. And he knew it.

His right hand casually slid down to the hem of the shirt in which I slept and lifted it, massaging firmly over the bare skin of my back. It took all my concentration not to moan again. The blankets shifted slightly as he slid closer, and his lips came carefully to my forehead, then moved casually down one cheek to my pointy chin, then up the other cheek. He lifted his head, and I was left... waiting.

I opened my eyes and looked into his, very close now, very dark. He smiled still, hands moving slowly, as if Time existed just for this and there was no Blight, no duty, no rush at all.

I blinked in confusion. “Is that... You... missed a spot.” Because, when all else failed, try humor. The Templar taught me that.

His smile became a grin. “I was waiting for an invitation. A first kiss isn't something one snatches in the night, like a common thief. I would know.”

I blinked again, thinking guiltily that I had expected (and perhaps wanted) him to behave exactly like a 'common thief.' It would have been easier than having this conversation about it.

He waited. I waited. He looked at my mouth, and his right hand slid slightly lower, curved more firmly around my hip, fingers grazing my flank. He tugged slightly, turning me more onto my side, pulling me closer to him. And still his lips hovered.

“All right, then.” I wasn't gracious. I was confused, and embarrassed, and maybe even a bit upset that I was being forced to ask for something I wasn't even sure I wanted. Or that I wanted, but also believed to be unwise.

His grin widened. “All right? It is... 'all right' that I kiss you? It sounds less like invitation and more like grudging acceptance.” He paused, eyes roving over my face as his grin faltered, just the tiniest bit. “Do you want me to kiss you? Or no?”

I swallowed hard. That was an excellent question. He knew it. I knew it. And yet, he was asking even knowing I could – if I felt threatened or panicked – literally burn him alive. That sort of trust, without the threat of my magic being drained away, felt precious. As precious, certainly, as a first kiss with another elf who had also been taken as a child and trained into an unquestioning servant. 

I nodded, eyes flicking to his lips, and then drew in a breath as his mouth descended, and the world stopped again, pleasure flooding out everything else that had somehow mattered only seconds before.

He brushed his lips over mine softly once, twice, and then his teeth nibbled my lower lip enticingly, provoking me into opening my mouth in surprise. He'd been anticipating that reaction; his tongue slid past mine in a sure, sudden stroke, blanking my mind. The invasion wasn't even a second cousin to the chaste careful kisses I'd received before. As his tongue laved through my mouth, the hand on my hip tightened implacably, and his left arm slid underneath me in a similar hold; both dragged me toward him until we were pressed together and I felt... everything. All the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen through his shirt, and every hard inch of him through his sleeping trousers. It was sensory overload. As incredible as it felt, I began to struggle as the overwhelming wave of sensations broke over me.

He instantly sensed the change. He raised his head slowly, one eyebrow arching in question. I tried not to pant, to catch my breath discreetly, to not look afraid. His eyes came back to my lips.

“Too fast, yes? Of memorable and pleasurable intensity, but perhaps too intense for one not used to such things?”

My eyes narrowed. His question sounded more like a critique than an apology. It was akin to telling me I couldn't handle what he had to give. A small voice in the back of my skull warned me that he was clever enough to both reassure me with respect to my lack of experience AND goad me with it. But the majority of my brain - stunned and stung by the abrupt end to the kiss, as much as by the initial sheer force of it – had me snapping back “I just... needed to breathe. I felt like I couldn't move. I'm fine. It was... fine.” Even as I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing to say... but I just couldn't stop myself.

“First, my kisses were 'all right'. Now they are merely 'fine'?” He tsk-ed quietly, shaking his head. “I shall endeavor to improve them.”

He assaulted my lips, the touch soft, then hard. His tongue was teasing, then insistent. He used his teeth, nipping my bottom lip again. He abandoned my mouth after many long minutes, and went back to my jaw, my ears, and then – as if sensing I was nearing utter capitulation - my neck. The feeling of his lips and teeth on my neck should have scorched us both. He'd turned me again onto my back somewhere during those kisses, and his weight pressed down against me. While the rational part of my mind assured me that I could escape easily with a spell, another part began to jibber about being unable to conjure even a cantrip while his mouth roamed my skin. Wasn't that dangerous? Wasn't I just as trapped?

Again my hands moved to his chest and pressed. With a small groan of his own, his head raised.

“Better than 'fine', I hope? Perhaps we have glimpsed the horizon of 'good enough'? Might we be able to locate 'not that bad', someday soon? If you would only cease pushing me away just when things begin to look promising...” His mouth began to lower to my neck again, and I renewed my shove. He relented, looking down at me quizzically.

“I can't move,” I stated inanely. I tried again. “I feel like I can't think. I feel-”

“Trapped,” he finished, gazing down at me. I nodded, eyeing him warily and just a bit guiltily. “But it also feels good, yes?” His hands rubbed my sides, his gaze frankly assessing.

“Yes.” I bit my lip. “Too good, maybe.” I closed my eyes.

“Ahhhhhhhhh.” A long exhalation, then a chuckle, made me open my eyes to glance at him again. His grin had returned and it annoyed me.

“What? Why are you smiling?”

He shrugged. “You have not yet made up your mind to do this. Part of you wants to, because it feels good. Another part of you fears it, because it is new.” His grin turned sly. “And part of you resents me for being so obedient, and making you decide.”

I gaped at him, cheeks coloring “I _what?”_

The smirk failed to leave his face. If anything, it got wider. “You would prefer that I simply did what I wanted, so that you could enjoy it without the guilt, yes? But given my vow, and my desire not to hurt you, I would need you to actually tell me this.”

I just stared at him, open-mouthed with shock. He'd somehow deciphered those brief fleeting thoughts I'd had and spit them back at me in plain speech. It was utterly true, and I had no idea what to say or do when faced with it. Again, a small part of my brain reminded me that I was way out of my depth.

“I-” I began, but nothing else emerged. He watched me, patiently waiting, while I tried to figure out something to say that wasn't a lie, and yet not quite as embarrassing as the truth. Then... it was too late.

“It is not uncommon, this desire.” he soothed, hands again rubbing my sides like he was gentling an animal. “Many young women – and men - came to the brothel wishing to be seduced and overpowered. To feel helpless, yet completely safe. It is something rare enough that many will pay for the sensation. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

I couldn't keep the hot blush from staining my face, couldn't make myself actually meet his eyes again, and certainly couldn't finish the sentence I'd started. The absolute worst part of what he said was the stark truth of it. I was vastly uncomfortable with how much his words aroused me, how much I senselessly resented the individuals who'd had that from him, and how this cauldron of feelings paralyzed me.

And of course, he wasn't done talking about it.

“If that is what you wish from me, it is easily accomplished.” He leaned down to nuzzle my neck again, teeth pressing in. I tightened in shock and went warm all over. “One simply negotiates, beforehand, what can and can not happen, and if there is to be a release word that ends the encounter.” He raised his head and looked at me. “I would not wish to end up frozen solid should you panic. That is taking the idea of a cold drench to an extreme.”

A nervous laugh escaped me and I hated myself for it. I hated him, just a little, for being so understanding - almost condescending - even though I also knew he likely didn't mean it that way. I was honest enough with myself to own the fact that I was the person in this scenario prone to panic. I was the one who wanted, (Templar-like?) to give up my choice in the matter. I was the one who wanted his kisses to overwhelm me, to warm me, to make me forget. Even just for a little while.

“It's... ridiculous, though, to want that,” I stated, lowering my lashes and refusing to look at him. “And ridiculous to pretend it isn't actually my choice. I'm a powerful elemental mage. I could get away at any point. It's all an illusion.”

When he didn't immediately answer, I risked a glance at him and was surprised to see he had sobered. His face was almost pensive. It was such an incongruous look when compared to his previous joviality that I poked him in the chest, and said “Zevran, I'm not... doubting you. I know you've seen things that I can't possibly understand. I just-”

His fingers came down on my lips, stopping my words. His eyes remained serious, and he took a deep breath before he spoke.

“You... know so little of the world. You think because - in all your strength, surrounded by your comrades - you easily defeated me, that it is irrational to fear losing yourself?” He again arched a brow, though the twist to his mouth was less humorous. “I do not believe this to be the case. I think your fear is entirely rational, though perhaps misplaced. Still, you do not know me.” He paused, clearly musing. “You may trust me a great deal, but that it what it is: blind trust.”

I blinked, finding myself unable to ignore the irony that this man - who had claimed on more than one occasion that he wished to have sex with me - was admitting these things. I cleared my throat, about to say – I don't know what – when he shushed me again and continued.

“I need to tell you a thing. Something I should have told you weeks ago, and yet- I had not made up my mind what should be done. You clearly had no idea what I carried in my pack. It could be poison intended for your food. It could be items of value I had stolen. As far as I know, past your first initial inspection of the things our group carried, you never looked. You trusted me to keep you safe. A gap grew between who I had been - what I had been willing to do - and the reality of who you wished me to be. I tried... to forget.”

I cautiously nodded, wondering where this was going.

“I find it hard to believe that your Ferelden Circle thinks it prudent not to warn young magi, yet I can believe they choose so. I can believe that they would keep you ignorant of such things for as long as possible, in the same way that they keep you ignorant of blood magic, and many harsh realities of what happens to the mage-born who are not so lucky as to have protection.” 

He seemed to be uncharacteristically avoiding some point, but his process felt too important to interrupt. I waited.

“Also, they are expensive. I knew this. And I knew you were seeking money to better supply our company. And yet... I did not think you would consent to sell them, given who you are and how you feel about-” His gaze turned pained, and he met my eyes. “That is not precisely true. I knew it was more than likely you would want them destroyed. And that it would cost us.” He looked sheepish now, admitting it.

“Want WHAT destroyed? To what are you referring?” I was lost.

He turned slightly and slipped a hand into his pack, coming back with a short length of nondescript braided cloth rope that absolutely reeked of lyrium. The sweet smell of magic drew me, and I reached to take it from him. It was obviously powerfully enchanted; someone had lovingly worked Master-level runes into the fibers-

_“Alligo,_ ” he intoned softly.

The rope under my fingers turned to quicksilver and lashed itself instantly around my wrists, knotting together before my eyes. The entire process took only a second. And before I could even enjoy my bemusement at the action, I realized something... was very wrong...

I kept myself calm through sheer force of will. “I can't-” I swallowed and tried again. “I can't feel my magic.” I couldn't cast a spell. Whatever runes had been placed on these manacles were keeping me from reaching my talent. Suddenly the panic I'd felt before – with very little reason – reared up inside me again for every reason.

“Wait.” His voice was commanding, and his hand raised my chin until I was forced to look him in the eye. “Stop.” He brought both his hands together over mine, held my wrists. “Think. I have had this in my pack since I met with Rendon Howe many weeks ago. I could have used it at any time, could I not? And you - not knowing such a thing existed - would have had no idea of what it could do, just as happened now.” 

He looked so earnest, my panic eased slightly. I waited.

“Now you know mage bonds exist - a thing you always should have known, a thing ALL mages should know.” He looked at me reprovingly. “How do you think one would ever bring a mage back alive? Do you think magebane infallible? That a mage, knowing it is in their food or drink, will not spit it out at the first opportunity? Did you not realize that even if one meant to render a mage Tranquil, it can not always be done in the location where one catches him? Did you expect that Templars watched these mages constantly, used their abilities continuously? When do you think they sleep? Even in shifts, they would tire.”

When he put it that way, it did seem as if there was a hole in the logic of the much-bandied nightmare: being hunted and captured by Templars. Yes, their possession of our phlacteries meant there was no way to hide from being tracked by your own blood. But there was also the reality that, once caught, one still had one's magic.

Until one didn't. The panic rose again, and I fought his hold. “Take them off.”

For the first time since I spared his life, Zevran outright refused to obey. He simply looked at me. He wet his lips. I stared at him, eyes widening, trying to keep my voice from becoming too loud, too shrill, waking the others, screaming for help-

“You understand... you could wake the others, yes? You still have that very real strength - your people. Even though, at this moment, you can not strike me with magic. But... this is closer to what it would feel like to be truly helpless.”

For the half-dozenth time that morning, I simply blinked at him, weighing his words. He was right. This is how a 'normal' person would feel, all the time, when faced with someone with a warrior's or assassin's skills. Perhaps even a lover's skills, at least an experienced one: the feeling of powerlessness, just that morning, under his caresses. Perspective shifted.

Without warning, his hands left my wrists, moved down my arms, touched my shoulders, my sides, and slid slowly up over my breasts. His thumbs brushed over my nipples. The world went bright and hot again, and his mouth came down on mine, and I was lost until he raised his head.

“Now you will want to burn the bonds. I suggest you have Alistair do it, and that Wynne, Morrigan, and yourself remain clear of the smoke. I doubt the loss of many sovereigns will trouble you, when weighed next to permanently destroying a set of mage bonds.” He looked down at me gravely, but a smile again tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But now you have also experienced something akin to what you feared... not knowing it was a real danger all along. I judged it worth the cost. And... it will be good to be rid of them. For me, the... concealment... was beginning to weigh on what is growing between us.”

I'd been completely unable to cast a spell for the last ten minutes. It felt longer. It felt like a lifetime.

“Yes,” I found myself nodding. “I want to burn them.” I looked at him, biting my lip and steeling myself.

“Later.”

**Author's Note:**

> obviously, in canon, PCs don't get to "just sleep" with NPCs but i think you should be able to because nightmares. the massage is canon, though, right?
> 
> and as far as i know, Mage Bonds are my own creation, but think about it - if they don't exist explicitly in canon, it makes a lot of sense that they would, even if only Templars had them. and Rendon Howe, because he's just that big of a jerk. lastly, "Alligo" is Latin/Greek for "bind."


End file.
